Entries tagged with oxford

The day after the memorial celebration frankie_ecap and I spent wandering around Oxford. She had been staying with white_hart and I met them in Broad Street, being dragged down the road until I saw one of Anthony Gormley’s sculptures balanced precariously on the corner of the roof of Blackwell’s art shop. Although not one of his series Event Horizon, it could have been: a human figure perched on the roof. It is very disturbing – a figure, silhouetted, stock still, almost as if waiting to fall. It is unnerving.

The day after the memorial celebration frankie_ecap and I spent wandering around Oxford. She had been staying with white_hart and I met them in Broad Street, being dragged down the road until I saw one of Anthony Gormley’s sculptures balanced precariously on the corner of the roof of Blackwell’s art shop. Although not one of his series Event Horizon, it could have been: a human figure perched on the roof. It is very disturbing – a figure, silhouetted, stock still, almost as if waiting to fall. It is unnerving.

My mother left piles of paper. I mean, piles of paper: paper that belonged to my grandfather, who died in 1985; paper that belonged to my father, who died in 1988; paper that belonged to my grandmother, who died in 1990; and paper that belonged to my mother.

She seems to have kept everything. We have found rates demands going back to the mid-1960s; phone bills from the mid-1970s; electricity bills; bank statements on long closed accounts with long closed banks; cheque book stubs going back thirty years; business receipts going back twenty years or more.

A lot of paper.

Some of it was sorted and orderly, but a lot of it seemed in no obvious order – papers from completely different periods sat together.

Most of it was of no interest – phone bills, bank statements, electricity bills – I threw them out (keeping only the most recent). I appear to be a chucker – I want rid of most things; my brother prefers to keep much more, in case it might be of interest. (I take the view that unless there is a clear use or interest, it should go: otherwise it will just sit in a box, forgotten in an attic, until someone else has to throw it out.) My mother, clearly, was a hoarder. The things she kept are, at times, fascinating: she stored some files in the vegetable rack of an old fridge; she kept old envelops and old bits of cardboard, in case they might one day be useful. (She grew up during the second world war and lived through years of rationing, so perhaps keeping things for a time when they would become valuable made sense.)

I don’t find it easy to sort through all this paper. Most of it is boring: another phone bill! Another electricity bill! (No gas bills: my mother didn’t like gas, being almost pathologically scared of it: again, I think this dates back to growing up in a time when catastrophic gas explosions were common, and gas leaks asphyxiated families as they slept.)

Amongst the boring pieces of paper, though, are some fascinating jewels: there is a strange balance between tedium and deep distraction, as something interesting grabs me and I sit and read, and suddenly time has passed. Many of them bring back memories – strong recollections of my childhood and youth.( Read more... )

My mother left piles of paper. I mean, piles of paper: paper that belonged to my grandfather, who died in 1985; paper that belonged to my father, who died in 1988; paper that belonged to my grandmother, who died in 1990; and paper that belonged to my mother.

She seems to have kept everything. We have found rates demands going back to the mid-1960s; phone bills from the mid-1970s; electricity bills; bank statements on long closed accounts with long closed banks; cheque book stubs going back thirty years; business receipts going back twenty years or more.

A lot of paper.

Some of it was sorted and orderly, but a lot of it seemed in no obvious order – papers from completely different periods sat together.

Most of it was of no interest – phone bills, bank statements, electricity bills – I threw them out (keeping only the most recent). I appear to be a chucker – I want rid of most things; my brother prefers to keep much more, in case it might be of interest. (I take the view that unless there is a clear use or interest, it should go: otherwise it will just sit in a box, forgotten in an attic, until someone else has to throw it out.) My mother, clearly, was a hoarder. The things she kept are, at times, fascinating: she stored some files in the vegetable rack of an old fridge; she kept old envelops and old bits of cardboard, in case they might one day be useful. (She grew up during the second world war and lived through years of rationing, so perhaps keeping things for a time when they would become valuable made sense.)

I don’t find it easy to sort through all this paper. Most of it is boring: another phone bill! Another electricity bill! (No gas bills: my mother didn’t like gas, being almost pathologically scared of it: again, I think this dates back to growing up in a time when catastrophic gas explosions were common, and gas leaks asphyxiated families as they slept.)

Amongst the boring pieces of paper, though, are some fascinating jewels: there is a strange balance between tedium and deep distraction, as something interesting grabs me and I sit and read, and suddenly time has passed. Many of them bring back memories – strong recollections of my childhood and youth.( Read more... )

Whilst I was there, there was a rehearsal going on: a clergyman and two small boys. I think it was for a Christmas service, but I don’t know why.

The first boy was reading from the Bible into a microphone; from the beginning. “In the beginning was the word… and the word was good.”

He was being coached by the clergyman – my guess is that they were from the cathedral school, and he was going to be leading the service. He picked up the boy, who must have been nine or ten years old, on every little point: every phrase – “And! More emphatic! And the word was good…!”

He took apart every syllable until it barely made sense.

The other boy had an easier job. He had to read from a modern children’s story: he told about a little boy who dropped a crisp packet in the street, and was picked up by his teacher.

“What would happen if everybody dropped the crisp packets in the street?” she asked.

The boy didn’t know.

“They’d pile up and up and up! What would happen then?”

The boy didn’t know.

“We’d be overwhelmed by crisp packets!”

The boy hung his head; the teacher thought it was in shame.

But actually he was calculating how many crisp packets would be needed to bury the whole of [Swindon/Didcot/Slough/wherever] to a depth of three feet…

Well, something like that, anyway.

These stories were read out as I wandered around, taking photographs. I wanted to tell the first kid that I thought he was doing fine, that he didn’t need to pay heed to the clergyman. But I didn’t.

Edit: as chickenfeet2003 points out, I got my biblical quotation completely wrong. It was several lines from, I think, Genesis, not John. But that wasn't the point: the point was that the man coaching the reader was quibbling over the specific stress of the word "And!"...

Whilst I was there, there was a rehearsal going on: a clergyman and two small boys. I think it was for a Christmas service, but I don’t know why.

The first boy was reading from the Bible into a microphone; from the beginning. “In the beginning was the word… and the word was good.”

He was being coached by the clergyman – my guess is that they were from the cathedral school, and he was going to be leading the service. He picked up the boy, who must have been nine or ten years old, on every little point: every phrase – “And! More emphatic! And the word was good…!”

He took apart every syllable until it barely made sense.

The other boy had an easier job. He had to read from a modern children’s story: he told about a little boy who dropped a crisp packet in the street, and was picked up by his teacher.

“What would happen if everybody dropped the crisp packets in the street?” she asked.

The boy didn’t know.

“They’d pile up and up and up! What would happen then?”

The boy didn’t know.

“We’d be overwhelmed by crisp packets!”

The boy hung his head; the teacher thought it was in shame.

But actually he was calculating how many crisp packets would be needed to bury the whole of [Swindon/Didcot/Slough/wherever] to a depth of three feet…

Well, something like that, anyway.

These stories were read out as I wandered around, taking photographs. I wanted to tell the first kid that I thought he was doing fine, that he didn’t need to pay heed to the clergyman. But I didn’t.

Edit: as chickenfeet2003 points out, I got my biblical quotation completely wrong. It was several lines from, I think, Genesis, not John. But that wasn't the point: the point was that the man coaching the reader was quibbling over the specific stress of the word "And!"...

(Tip for alumni of Oxford: your “alumni card”, which you can get from your college if they haven’t sent you one – or several! – could get you in free: well, mine got me in free. I would assume that this is the same for every college, but I haven’t tried it yet.)

The route around the college is prescribed – basically, “tourists this way”. I can’t think when I last – if I ever – went around the college (as opposed to popping in to see friends in their rooms). It was beautiful.

(Tip for alumni of Oxford: your “alumni card”, which you can get from your college if they haven’t sent you one – or several! – could get you in free: well, mine got me in free. I would assume that this is the same for every college, but I haven’t tried it yet.)

The route around the college is prescribed – basically, “tourists this way”. I can’t think when I last – if I ever – went around the college (as opposed to popping in to see friends in their rooms). It was beautiful.

I had dinner at All Souls. I hadn’t had dinner at “high table” for many, many years; and All Souls only has high table.

It was all slightly weird: lots of servants being rather obsequious, which doesn’t naturally fall within my comfort zone. The whole thing – the very grand setting, the portraits (famous scientists and politicians were the ones I recognised), the servants – made me think of a meal in Gormenghast, or perhaps something out of His Dark Materials.

I sat between my friend and an ancient historian. (She was quite young herself.) Indeed, most of the people there seemed to be ancient historians. She wasn’t particularly chatty, but since my friend was talking to the person on her right – who taught her when she was an undergraduate (she wasn’t sure if he remembered!) – I pushed ahead with a conversation.

Her speciality was twelfth century France (though I guess it wasn’t called France at that point), and much more specifically, the legal basis for various wars that were fought. Knowing nothing about twelfth century France, let alone the legal basis for wars, this was a which seam of conversation and was rather interesting.

She hailed from the mid-west, so we talked about the States, too.

The food was good-ish – chicken breast stuffed with brie (although they seemed to have forgotten the brie in mine, which suited me perfectly) - the wine, better (a 1999 Jaboulet – I can’t remember the specific provenance).

I was a little confused because my friend had said we wouldn’t stay for dessert, so I was thinking we would leave before pudding, but we didn’t. This was good, the pudding being baked pears soaked in some kind of alcohol.

We went to another, much more homely, room for coffee, where we talked with another ancient historian, this one on loan from a university in Paris. Her topic was fascinating – basically, the information systems in place following the collapse of the Roman Empire, and more specifically, how did Christianity manage to (more or less) maintain its integrity rather than collapse into a myriad of cults. (It goes without saying that I know nothing of ancient information systems or early Christianity – I know bugger all about Christianity period aside from thinking medieval cathedrals are beautiful, awe inspiring things.) This was fascinating; her view was it all came down to gossip – the ancient version of Facebook…

I was looking for the port, thinking this might be quite special, when my friend made moves to leave. It turns out dessert is port and a bit more food – but tends towards the pompous if there aren’t a lot of guests, which is why she wanted to skip it.

So we went off to play with her family and, particularly, their kittens, instead.

I had dinner at All Souls. I hadn’t had dinner at “high table” for many, many years; and All Souls only has high table.

It was all slightly weird: lots of servants being rather obsequious, which doesn’t naturally fall within my comfort zone. The whole thing – the very grand setting, the portraits (famous scientists and politicians were the ones I recognised), the servants – made me think of a meal in Gormenghast, or perhaps something out of His Dark Materials.

I sat between my friend and an ancient historian. (She was quite young herself.) Indeed, most of the people there seemed to be ancient historians. She wasn’t particularly chatty, but since my friend was talking to the person on her right – who taught her when she was an undergraduate (she wasn’t sure if he remembered!) – I pushed ahead with a conversation.

Her speciality was twelfth century France (though I guess it wasn’t called France at that point), and much more specifically, the legal basis for various wars that were fought. Knowing nothing about twelfth century France, let alone the legal basis for wars, this was a which seam of conversation and was rather interesting.

She hailed from the mid-west, so we talked about the States, too.

The food was good-ish – chicken breast stuffed with brie (although they seemed to have forgotten the brie in mine, which suited me perfectly) - the wine, better (a 1999 Jaboulet – I can’t remember the specific provenance).

I was a little confused because my friend had said we wouldn’t stay for dessert, so I was thinking we would leave before pudding, but we didn’t. This was good, the pudding being baked pears soaked in some kind of alcohol.

We went to another, much more homely, room for coffee, where we talked with another ancient historian, this one on loan from a university in Paris. Her topic was fascinating – basically, the information systems in place following the collapse of the Roman Empire, and more specifically, how did Christianity manage to (more or less) maintain its integrity rather than collapse into a myriad of cults. (It goes without saying that I know nothing of ancient information systems or early Christianity – I know bugger all about Christianity period aside from thinking medieval cathedrals are beautiful, awe inspiring things.) This was fascinating; her view was it all came down to gossip – the ancient version of Facebook…

I was looking for the port, thinking this might be quite special, when my friend made moves to leave. It turns out dessert is port and a bit more food – but tends towards the pompous if there aren’t a lot of guests, which is why she wanted to skip it.

So we went off to play with her family and, particularly, their kittens, instead.

Christmas Is Axed In Oxford

Council leaders in Oxford have decided to ban the word Christmas from this year's festive celebrations to make them more "inclusive". But the decision to rename the series of events the "Winter Light Festival" have been cticised by religious leaders and locals said it was "ludicrous".

Sabir Hussain Mirza, chairman of the Muslim Council of Oxford, said: "This is the one occasion which everyone looks forward to in the year... I'm angry and very, very disappointed. CHristmas is special and we shouldn't ignore it... Christmas is part of being British."

Rabbi Eli Bracknell said: "It's important to maintain a traditional British Christmas..."

What amused me most is that the Observer didn't print any comments from any Christian spokespeople!

Christmas Is Axed In Oxford

Council leaders in Oxford have decided to ban the word Christmas from this year's festive celebrations to make them more "inclusive". But the decision to rename the series of events the "Winter Light Festival" have been cticised by religious leaders and locals said it was "ludicrous".

Sabir Hussain Mirza, chairman of the Muslim Council of Oxford, said: "This is the one occasion which everyone looks forward to in the year... I'm angry and very, very disappointed. CHristmas is special and we shouldn't ignore it... Christmas is part of being British."

Rabbi Eli Bracknell said: "It's important to maintain a traditional British Christmas..."

What amused me most is that the Observer didn't print any comments from any Christian spokespeople!